


if it makes me your king

by llien



Category: Kingdom Hearts (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cabin Fic, Choking, Gift Fic, Inspired by the Japanese myth of the snow woman, M/M, Sensuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:08:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27666581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/llien/pseuds/llien
Summary: “You’re so stubborn,” Sora said, and Vanitas found him turning on the spot to march back over his own footprints. He unwound his red scarf and tucked it around Vanitas’ exposed neck with deft, confident movements. Vanitas was too stunned to speak, but when Sora passed a thumb over his chin, hand curled under Vanitas’ jaw, he found his words again.“Flirting with death?” Vanitas asked with a sarcastic grin. From that spot, warmth flooded him, and he almost grabbed Sora’s hand. Almost.Not yet, not yet,he thought to himself, eyeing Sora from head to toe.
Relationships: Sora/Vanitas (Kingdom Hearts)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 71





	if it makes me your king

**Author's Note:**

> A gift for lovely Mim! Happy birthday!!!! Have some sovani fluff(?) spiced with cryptid promises and undertakings. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Title from All For Us — Euphoria

Vanitas trailed in Sora’s footsteps.

It wasn’t meant to be poignant or have meaning. He wasn’t attempting to be like Sora, or to impart some greater significance to his actions. The snow fell in gentle drifts, bit by bit. He looked up at the sky and sniffled, nose red and cold from the biting wind. Ahead of him, Sora’s brown hair was damp from melted snow, and there was white fluff where it hadn’t quite turned into water yet.

Sora looked back over his shoulder, a hint of summer blue in his gaze that spoke of humid heat, and fruits with sweet juice. The bitter winter sapped away any hint of Sora’s own body heat, but the few instances Vanitas had gotten close to him before, he’d smelled of earthy cinnamon, and beneath that like something spiced hot. He thought if he’d gotten just a bit closer, he might have even been able to taste whatever scalding impression was there. 

“How long are you going to follow me?” Sora asked, voice clear and unafraid, dampened by the falling snow. All around them, the snow stretched for as far as the eye could see, the only disturbed evidence being the path they tracked behind them. Coniferous trees were black stamps against the edges of their gray world, as if made by a clumsy hand over and over again. 

Vanitas grinned at him, all sharp teeth and winter-dry lips. He was skin stretched taut over bone, just moments from ripping through his own flesh. By contrast, Sora seemed soft, plush and as if he’d give beneath Vanitas’ touch, like sponge cake or the flesh of oranges. All he needed was a sharp edge to dig in with.

Sora sniffed, evidence of a runny nose, and gave him a funny smile, as if Vanitas amused him. Licking his dry lips to turn them soft, he felt the cold thricefold along his mouth, as if he’d brushed it with mint instead. He shoved his numb hands into his pockets, scratching at the linen against his equally frozen thighs. He wasn’t dressed for subzero weather and wind this strong, and his legs had long since grown numb under his black jeans. He reached up to rub at his red nose, but he continued to dog Sora.

For another long silent stretch, there was only the crumpling snow underneath their boots. Sora was wearing a puffy jacket, and the tails of his red scarf occasionally drifted over his shoulders with the wind. Vanitas opened his mouth and breathed in deep, and it burned his lungs but the air tasted clean and fresh on his tongue.

“You’re so stubborn,” Sora said, and Vanitas found him turning on the spot to march back over his own footprints. He unwound his red scarf and tucked it around Vanitas’ exposed neck with deft, confident movements. Vanitas was too stunned to speak, but when Sora passed a thumb over his chin, hand curled under Vanitas’ jaw, he found his words again.

“Flirting with death?” Vanitas asked with a sarcastic grin. From that spot, warmth flooded him, and he almost grabbed Sora’s hand. Almost.

_ Not yet, not yet,  _ he thought to himself, eyeing Sora from head to toe. He thought of blazing summer sun that burnt his skin dry, of seawater that tasted salty and was gritty between his fingers, of the cool slide of ice cream along his tongue, languid and seeking and lingering in the corners of his mouth.

“Can’t help it when he keeps following me around like a puppy,” Sora said, smiling. “You’d be scarier without a runny nose.”

Vanitas sniffed. He hadn’t expected Sora to amble from the cozy village all the way the hell out here. He’d never had watermelon before, but he could taste it, cool and fresh and when he’d closed his eyes beside the fireplace, for a moment he could believe he was on a beach beneath palm fronds, parting his lips for another bite of sweet fruit. He opened his eyes to find Sora considering him, his cheeks pink from the cold.

“Even I get cold,” Vanitas said, taking care to curl his tongue around one sharp canine. 

Sora looked at him then, as if really seeing him for the first time. Everywhere his gaze passed, Vanitas felt warm. He wanted to rip the scarf and coat off of him, to feel the familiar chill again. “Somehow, you seem less human out here,” Sora finally said, head cocked to the side and brown locks of hair brushing along his cheek. An earring peeked out, black metal noticeable against the winter-burnt red of his earlobe.

Vanitas crossed his arms and glanced around them at the vast emptiness. “We’re killing daylight,” he pointed out. Sora had his cellphone flashlight probably, but Vanitas didn’t know how much further it was to wherever Sora was going, and he didn’t relish stalking him through the colder hours of the night. 

Sora laughed, too loud for how empty and quiet it was around them, and though Vanitas wanted to flinch, he didn’t. Turning back around on his heel, Sora kept walking, and Vanitas passed over their mismatched footsteps mingling together. He made a game of matching his steps to Sora’s footprints again. If anyone tried to follow them from there, they’d only see Sora’s set of tracks at that point.

Not that it mattered, since the falling snow would conceal that anyone had ever been with Sora this far.

His borrowed scarf was hot alongside Vanitas’ throat, fabric soft and unfamiliar. He ducked his chin beneath the fold, enjoying the way his lips caught on the cloth. 

“We’re almost there,” Sora called back to him, and he found that just beyond Sora was a cabin. There was no smoke from the chimney, and a thrill of excitement shot from his nape and down his spine, curling in his stomach. Gradually, a driveway with a tarp-covered car was revealed through the trees bordering the cabin, and Vanitas could see no lights were on.

“My family owns this property,” Sora said, answering the questions Vanitas wouldn’t voice, “normally my cousins take care of it but they’re busy this winter, so I decided to stay here.” 

The grounds were properly salted, Vanitas noticed as the folding sound of snow being stepped on was replaced with the gritty give of salt underfoot. It reminded him of the ocean again, and he hastened his step to be closer to Sora. What else would he taste, he wondered.

“It’s kind of nice to have company,” Sora continued as he unlocked the front door. “Normally I’m stuck out here all alone until I go back into town and I’m not really used to it. Should’ve bugged some friends to come with me.”

Vanitas stepped into the home after Sora, eyes adjusting first to the sudden darkness after all the light reflecting off the snow, and then to the jarring brightness as Sora flicked the switches on. It was a standard cabin as far as things went, and Vanitas had been in enough of them to find it uninteresting. They abandoned their shoes by the entrance, Vanitas’ set beside each other and Sora’s in a heap on the mat where the melting ice wouldn’t spread. He explored curiously nonetheless as Sora shivered and powered the heater on, stoking a fire to life next. 

“Make yourself at home,” Sora said, voice trailing as he moved from room to room, bringing the place to life. True to his word, there didn’t seem to be evidence of anyone else there. It made Vanitas’ work a lot simpler when he didn’t have to deal with the possibility of being walked in on. “Want some cocoa? I feel like I’m frozen half to death. Seriously, I’m an islander, I can’t take this kind of cold.”

Vanitas took off the rest of his wrappings as the place warmed up, keeping only the scarf on over his black turtleneck. Sora’s words made sense when he considered just how many layers he was wearing. It wasn’t  _ that  _ cold, and Vanitas had been born in a desert to boot. Maybe he’d just spent enough years here that it didn’t affect him as much anymore.

“Whatever,” he said, and Sora took down two mugs. They were cheesy mass-marketed winter themed mugs they sold in the village, overpriced and churned out every year. Sora acted like they were golden though, prattling on about where he’d found them and how cute they were and how even though it was cold here, it was nice to celebrate winter ‘the right way.’

“It’s weird when it’s supposed to be winter but everyone’s still in shorts and t-shirts,” Sora explained, stirring the chocolate in a pan as Vanitas leaned against the counter beside the stove, arms crossed. Sora had finally shed his thick jacket, revealing a maroon V-neck sweater that showed how laughably small Sora was in comparison to his bulky clothes. The chocolate smelled rich and amorous, and steam rose in lazy waves that curled and crept towards the ceiling. The gas burner was too warm now in the well heated kitchen, but Vanitas relished the embrace of it. 

As Sora moved, adding spices and cream, and ladling chocolate into the mugs with a wooden spoon, Vanitas caught glimpses of his ungloved hands, knuckles red and raw from the winter chill, and Vanitas was sure if he passed his thumbs over the back of Sora’s hands, he’d find them bloodied. He thought about sliding the pad of his fingers further, tucking them underneath the edge of Sora’s sweater and tracing his wrists, and his tongue felt heavy.

With a sunny grin, Sora held out a mug topped with whipped cream and marshmallows, all dusted with cinnamon and two sticks tucked artfully within. “Here!” 

Vanitas carefully took the cup without touching Sora. He wrinkled his nose at the mound of puffy cream he’d have to avoid just to take a sip, and instead held it cupped between his hands as the chocolate cooled to a drinkable temperature. He breathed in deep, cinnamon spice and marshmallow cream, and it felt like he drew in the warmth of the chocolate through his hands, flooding his body. He was ravenous. The heater smelled faintly burnt and dry, and it reminded him vaguely of the desert lands he’d been born to. It wasn’t quite the same scent, but he never could shake the association.

“Try it,” Sora urged with a slight whine to his voice. A dollop of cream rested on his upper lip where he’d already sipped his, and Vanitas nearly wiped it away himself before Sora licked it clean. “I just slaved over the stove for you, you know.”

“You made this for yourself,” Vanitas retorted, but he took a careful sip, wary of burning his tongue before his real meal. It tasted delicious, spiced and chocolatey thick, and although Sora had clearly followed a recipe that wasn’t some family tradition, Vanitas found he didn’t mind the modern artificiality of comfort. He took a small kernel of pride in knowing that he was the only person in possibly the whole world to try this. “It’s fine,” he said cooly.

“You’re such a liar,” Sora said, sounding amused. They sipped in mutual comfort at their hot chocolate for a moment, relishing the white noise of heavy snow falling beyond the windows. By sunfall their footsteps would be gone, Vanitas thought. He’d have to be back by morning. Maybe he’d go to another village entirely. He glanced sideways, tracing Sora’s profile. His darkly tanned skin seemed at odds with the winter clothes he wore, just the slightest hint that he spent most of his time on another hemisphere of the world.

“Wanna sit by the fireplace?” Sora asked, ducking his head to try and meet Vanitas’ fleeting gaze. He shrugged and left the kitchen towards the living room, and even though Sora was quiet he could feel the smile aimed at his back, and the heaviness of Sora’s gaze.

They sat on the rug instead of on the couches, and the radiating fire combined with the drink was enough that Vanitas exhaled gustily, tugging on the scarf until it unraveled and hung along his shoulders. The tasseled ends splayed over his thigh, and Sora reached over to arrange each string straight. Even though he was barely thawing, Sora’s touch was enough to send a wave of sour-sweet juice across his tongue, edged with salt and the clinking of ice cubes, but it was barely a hint and then it was gone. His mouth grew dry and parched.

“You know, I got a feel for what you are,” Sora began, like he had all of their conversations — of his own volition, casually, intimately, as if they’d been partners for a life time, the secrets of each other’s bodies long since explored. “Whatever you took, you gave to me, too.”

Vanitas had nothing to give except arid land and baked black skin, of how the earth could crack apart from the capricious nature of the sky. “This was never about give and take,” he snapped, tongue and teeth lined with the tangy aftertaste of black cherries. “You’re a reckless idiot who’s going to die alone out here.”

Sora blinked at him, and then he laughed in his face. He leaned back, fingers disappearing from the curve of Vanitas’ thigh, and he took the lingering sensation of waves over his feet with him. “I didn’t think that far,” Sora admitted with mirth. He didn’t seem afraid, even though Vanitas knew with one touch he could know the truth. He held himself still. “I just thought it’d be nice like this, to drink something warm together in the peace and quiet. It’s one of my favorite things to do.”

“And that’s it?” Vanitas asked incredulously, setting his half-empty mug aside. Sora had finished his already. “You thought it’d be nice to invite me back here, where no one will find your body for months?”

“Hey,” Sora protested, voice still warm, as if he thought this was all a funny joke. “I’ve made a lot of friends you know. Someone’ll come looking some day.”

There was such blind faith in his words, it stunned him. Sora really believed of all these acquaintances he’d made, there was even a lone soul among them who would care enough or even remember Sora, and might happen upon his cabin all the way in the middle of the fucking mountains. “You’re even more stupid than I thought,” Vanitas scowled. He didn’t know why he was so angry when all of this was in his favor. 

Sora shrugged, loose limbs and at ease. Nothing about him belied any fear or hesitation or regret. The couch at his back rucked up his sweater with that movement, loosening his neckline to expose more of his collarbones. His own fingertips felt hollow with emptiness and desire. 

Slowly, he reached up and cupped his hands around Sora’s throat, tapping a black nail against the hollow point between his clavicle. Sora swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing above Vanitas’ finger. Rich, aromatic herbs filled the empty spaces of the world around him, mellowed by thick honey and scented by seasalt, and in the far distance he could hear ocean waves and the tinkling of windchimes. Underfoot, sunworn pine boards groaned beneath his weight as grains of sand tumbled over his skin. He breathed in cinnamon and citrus, and  _ pushed. _

Sora slid along the couch, shirt clinging in a delayed shift to the seat before he grunted, back against the ground and Vanitas hovering over him, elbows locked as he grasped Sora firmly by the throat. He wasn’t constricting his airflow, not yet, but he had the strength to.

“I could swallow you whole,” he told Sora, meeting his wide blue eyes flickering with the red and orange of the firelight, “I could devour all of you.” 

He could see himself reflected in Sora’s gaze, and the world felt all at once as wide as the universe and as small as the puff of Sora’s breath on his exposed forearm. Still, there was roasted meat and earthy vegetables, drunken laughter like a spinning teacup, fairy lights exploding into fireworks that rained down as a summer typhoon. He was dizzy, and he gripped tighter.

Sora gasped, calloused hands flying up to grasp Vanitas’ wrists in a strong grip, and Vanitas exhaled shakily as more sensations flew over him. Wind currents flowing along his body as he sped down a wire suspended in the sky, sunlight on the water surface reflected in lazy patterns on his skin, the evening call of cicadas and the condensation of a cool drink dripping on the space between his thumb and forefinger. 

A ferry churned a fine mist over his wrinkled face as friends laughed, and someone who was like starlight took him by the hand to lead him down a sun speckled path in the woods. He heard someone call his name and it sounded like all the sky was talking, an earth-shattering rumble. 

Sora’s nails dug in, and Vanitas realized he couldn’t breathe. He let go, sitting straight from where he straddled Sora’s hips, chest heaving. The scarf had slid half off of him at some point, pooling onto Sora’s stomach as he gasped, panting quickly between his thighs. Vanitas was heady, almost drunk on it all.

There was something different about Sora more than anyone else, where he’d imbibed and left still starved. He was too much, too overwhelming, like a protective layer of his flesh had been stripped away and his nerves were exposed to lightning-charged air. His hair clung to his temples as he caught his breath, and he looked down to find Sora’s face flushed, eyes tear-bright.

All the work he’d done towards regaining his breath was ripped from him at that sight, and he cupped Sora’s face, leaning down to kiss him before the onslaught of sensations could strip his own experience of touching Sora away. 

One after the other, like full cups of water being tipped over, experiences washed over him — sights and tastes and sounds and feelings. He leaned back to gasp, then tilted his head to kiss Sora closer. He was lost like that, filling in the gaps of his own barren life with a lifetime of memories. 

It was only Sora’s hands digging into his back and bunching the fabric of his turtleneck that brought him back to his senses. He backed off, gasping as ripped his hands away from Sora to cut the deluge off, relieved when Sora intuitively understood and dropped his own hands, too. They stared at each other, Vanitas wide-eyed. 

He cleared his throat and spoke before Vanitas could gather his thoughts together. “Well, I don’t know about you, but that didn’t feel like death to me.”

All the wonder and awe he’d felt up until that point evaporated, and Vanitas groaned. His face heated up, a sense of embarrassment he didn’t experience often. He didn’t want to explain to Sora that it usually wasn’t like this. Normally, he walked away with no problem. Even now, faint sensations were fed through Vanitas from the points of contact where he straddled him, but he had no desire to move away. 

“It’s…” he trailed off, avoiding Sora’s seeking gaze. “You’re weird,” he settled with. Any other adjective would’ve made Sora’s pride preen. “It’s different for some reason.”

Sora hummed, tracing his own mouth with his thumb. “Like how? I’ve never met anyone like you before, you know. Or heard about you either.”

Vanitas frowned, thinking of how to describe the dizzying onslaught of Sora’s experiences and memories. They felt… fulfilling. As if the eating a homemade meal after being gone for centuries. He immediately balked at the thought of saying so and ducked his head back down, resting his forehead on the rug beside Sora’s neck. 

One of the shared sensations had been something like this — lingering, comforting silences. Mutual companionship that spanned hours, days and weeks. Sora made everything feel simple and easy. As if reading his mind, touching Sora sent a single snapshot: a bloody sun streaking with starlight as the ocean accepted its plummet. 

“I think,” Vanitas whispered, closing his eyes the relish the warmth of Sora’s body beneath him the taste of chocolate on his tongue, “I’ll keep you around a little longer.”

Sora laughed as if it was the funniest thing he’d heard all day and wrapped his arms around Vanitas’ shoulders. 


End file.
